chapter 3

The library was eerily silent, the tension between Kara and Damien crackling like a live wire. Shelves of ancient books bore witness to their clash, their words laced with unspoken animosity.

“You are insufferable,” Kara hissed, folding her arms as she glared up at him. “Your arrogance is unmatched.”

Damien, ever composed, adjusted his glasses, his gaze cool. “And your recklessness is unbecoming of a lady.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please. Spare me the lecture on decorum, Professor Blackwell. I am not one of your students.”

“No, you are far worse,” he muttered. “You refuse to acknowledge the very world you live in. Do you think your actions have no consequences?”

Kara smirked. “And do you think hiding behind rules and tradition makes you any better? You’re a coward, Damien. Afraid to step outside the life that was chosen for you.”

His jaw clenched. “That life has given me purpose.”

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “And yet, here you are, constantly engaging with someone you claim to despise. Why is that?”

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed through the grand hallway outside the library. A servant entered, his face carefully neutral as he bowed slightly toward Damien.

“Professor Blackwell, your father requests your presence at once.”

Damien gave Kara one last, lingering look before turning on his heel and leaving without another word.

The news had arrived that morning, delivered by none other than his father, Lord William Blackwell, over breakfast. Damien had spent the night in restless discomfort, Kara's name circling his thoughts like an unrelenting storm. From birth, he had been raised in a world of discipline, strict manners, and unwavering duty—everything she defied with reckless abandon. And now, as if fate itself were mocking him, his father spoke with composed indifference, as if this was just another political arrangement, another affair of business.

"Kara Winter’s parents have arranged for her marriage. It has been decreed with the Emperor’s own endorsement, ensuring there would be no objections."

Damien had nearly dropped his tea.

"What?"

His father merely gave him a pointed look, folding the morning paper as he continued. "Her family petitioned a match through political ties. The Blackwell name was suggested to ensure approval. It was either that, or the Emperor’s aide would intervene himself. The Winters were rather insistent."

Damien clenched his fists beneath the table. Arranged marriages were nothing unusual in their society. Women were commodities to be bartered, their hands given away to men who would uphold their family’s name and ensure their obedience. It was tradition. It was expected. But this was Kara Winter.

A woman who defied expectations. A woman who had dared to challenge him, to mock the world he so fiercely upheld. And now, without her knowledge, her fate was being decided for her.

"Who is she to marry?" Damien’s voice was too sharp, too clipped. His father noticed, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly.

"That remains uncertain. There are… considerations. But the Winters are pressing for an immediate match."

Damien exhaled, struggling to temper the surge of something unrecognizable—anger? Frustration? He shouldn’t care. It wasn’t his concern. And yet, the thought of Kara—wild, untamed Kara—being forced into a role she had fought so hard against made his blood boil.

"Does she know?" Damien asked, already knowing the answer.

Lord Blackwell merely arched a brow. "Of course not. Women are not told such things until all is arranged."

Damien pushed away from the table, his chair scraping against the marble floor. "If you’ll excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the estate, his mind racing.

Kara Winter was completely unaware of the storm brewing around her.

She stood in the courtyard of her modest home, running a hand over the handlebars of her beloved motorcycle, the one thing that made her feel free in a world determined to chain her down. She had spent years carving a place for herself outside of the suffocating expectations of society, and she had no intention of returning to that prison.

"Miss Kara," a maid called softly from the doorway. "Your mother requests your presence in the drawing room."

Kara sighed. That could only mean trouble.

Upon entering the room, she found her mother, Lady Genevieve Winter, seated with an air of practiced elegance, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her father, Lord Edmund Winter, stood near the fireplace, his expression unreadable.

"You summoned me?" Kara said casually, folding her arms.

Lady Genevieve’s gaze flickered over Kara’s attire—riding boots, a loosely fitted blouse, and trousers, of course. Her disapproval was palpable.

"You will wear a dress tomorrow," her mother said flatly. "A lady’s dress, not… whatever it is you insist on disgracing yourself with."

Kara lifted a brow. "Oh? Are we playing dress-up now? How delightful."

Her father sighed. "Enough, Kara. There are matters to discuss."

She narrowed her eyes. The tension in the room was suffocating, but neither of her parents revealed the reason behind it. Not yet.

"I have no interest in whatever nonsense you’ve conjured today," Kara said, turning on her heel.

"Kara!" her mother snapped, but she was already walking away.

Damien found himself standing outside the Winter estate far sooner than he had expected. He wasn’t sure what had brought him here—frustration, duty, or something else he refused to name.

He wasn’t in the habit of meddling. He did not concern himself with trivial social matters. But Kara Winter was not a trivial matter.

After a brief argument with the doorman, he was admitted into the sitting room, where he found Lord and Lady Winter waiting. They greeted him with smiles, thin and diplomatic.

"Ah, Professor Blackwell," Lord Winter said. "A pleasure."

"Likewise," Damien said stiffly. "I assume you know why I am here."

Lady Winter exchanged a glance with her husband before nodding. "You have heard of the arrangement, then."

Damien’s jaw tensed. "Indeed. And I must ask—does Miss Winter have any say in this?"

Silence.

Finally, Lord Winter let out a tired sigh. "She does not need to know until it is done. It is what is best. She will fight, of course, but it is her duty."

Duty.

That word had once meant everything to Damien. Now, for the first time, he found himself resenting it.

"And if she refuses?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Lady Winter’s expression hardened. "She will not have the option. And neither will you, Professor Blackwell. Your family has already given their consent."

Damien knew then that Kara would never bow to this quietly. She would fight, and it would be a battle that could cost her everything.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides. For the first time, he wasn’t just watching the clash between duty and defiance.

He was part of it.

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